


Love you to the Moon and Back

by cognomen, MayGlenn



Series: A Very Supernatural Starsky & Hutch [2]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-27 05:07:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15017306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/pseuds/cognomen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: When the next full moon rolls around, Hutch warns Starsky in plenty of time, when Starsky is driving him to his house.“I have a dog door installed in the garage now,” Hutch explained. “So I can get in and out in whatever form. I’ll call you the minute I have thumbs again.” Hutch adds, with a teasing wink, “Don’t be caught outdoors too late.”“I’m starting to think I’m missing out,” Starsky laughs. “Chasing cars, all the pork I can catch… doesn’t sound so bad. Having a whole wolf pack.” He shrugs it all off, a joke he’s content to let go. “Be careful out there. I’m still working on reading my handbook, but I know enough to know it’s not all a big game of frisbee, either.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A note from MayGlenn: I may have underestimated how long before Huggy shows up. Need to get these boys together first, sue me.

They start spending a lot more time together, basically only apart when they are sleeping—and then, only some of the time, as it’s common enough that Starsky or Hutch will fall asleep on the other’s couch, either because they were working on a case late together, or because they had a few too many beers together. 

When the next full moon rolls around, Hutch warns Starsky in plenty of time, when Starsky is driving him to his house. 

“I have a dog door installed in the garage now,” Hutch explained. “So I can get in and out in whatever form. I’ll call you the minute I have thumbs again.”

Hutch adds, with a teasing wink, “Don’t be caught outdoors too late.” 

“I’m starting to think I’m missing out,” Starsky laughs. “Chasing cars, all the pork I can catch… doesn’t sound so bad. Having a whole wolf pack.”

He shrugs it all off, a joke he’s content to let go. “Be careful out there. I’m still working on reading my handbook, but I know enough to know it’s not all a big game of frisbee, either.”

Starsky’s not sure when letting Hutch go off alone into potentially dangerous situations became something he’s worried about, but it’s there, and he guesses they’ll probably address it someday. Like they haven’t quite spoken about how physically intimate and comfortable they’ve gotten, lately. Starsky’s not dumb, he knows the signals, but he can’t quite get up the nerves to make a move—after all, he didn’t want things to go sour between him and Hutch over misread signals or something of the like. 

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Starsky says, as he pulls up at Hutch’s house by the canals. 

“Right,” Hutch says, and wishes Starsky were coming with him. He adds, as though he just heard it, and hadn’t been busy staring at the way Starsky’s hands grip the wheel, imaging them buried in the soft fur right behind his neck, “Of course I’ll be careful.” 

It’s getting to the point where dates are unsatisfying, actually, even with other werewolves, unless Starsky’s along on a double-date. But tonight, Hutch tells himself, as he waves at Starsky from his door, he can go out, be a wolf, and call Starsky in the morning. A whole twelve hours apart might be good for them. It might clear up some of these feelings he’s been having, one way or another.  

Starsky berates himself for watching until Hutch is safely inside, before he returns to his empty feeling apartment and turns on the TV, pulling cold pizza and beer out of the fridge to distract himself by indulging without anyone nagging about his choice of food for once. He changes channels a few times, and then finds a werewolf movie running on TV and figures there’s some conspiracy at work there, but he watches it anyway, slowly getting absorbed in it. 

For Hutch, the transformation is exhilarating. It isn’t painful, though it looks like it should be—or if it is, only in the way a long run or a deep stretch is painful. He gives his obligatory howl at the moon, slinks out of his doggie-door, and takes off at a sprint in the dark night. The city smells alive—mostly smells the wolf doesn’t  _ like _ , but they are interesting nonetheless. It’s funny how  werewolf instinct calls them all together through scent and gut feeling, and Hutch winds his way to meet with the rest of his pack on the edge of town, where they can run together, and commune, and hunt, and—

Hutch almost doesn’t realize his feet have taken him to Starsky’s house until he’s skulking around his back door, sniffing the perimeter, to make sure it’s safe, he tells himself,  _ isn’t that sweet, wolf-me is worried about him _ , but then he sits there at the back door and begins to whine, loudly, like a dog wanting to be let in. 

He’s not going anywhere. 

And Hutch doesn’t want to, either. This is where his pack-instincts led him tonight, and except for the questions the human part of him knows this will bring up tomorrow, Hutch can think of no reason  _ not  _ to listen to his instincts. He wants to scratch the door, and he  _ does _ stop himself from doing that, because the last thing Starsky needs is wolf claws in the paint of his back door. What a thing to have to explain to his landlord…

Starsky nearly jumps out of his skin at the very real, very  _ loud _ sounds coming at his back door at a particularly suspenseful point of the movie, before he realizes it has to be Hutch. Starsky gets up almost automatically, worried that maybe Hutch had  _ already _ gotten into trouble, but when he opens the door, his friend the wolf just trots right in with a grateful huff, and the gesture is so  _ Hutch _ all over that Starsky has to grin.

“You got a whole pack and you got lonely without me, huh? They won’t miss you?” Starsky says. “That’s okay, I missed you too. C’mere you big lug, we can watch this terrible werewolf movie together.”

He offers a slice of cold pizza, figuring wolf-Hutch was at least somewhat less picky. 

Hutch wolfs it down, quite hungry after the change, and he gobbles down the second and third slices Starsky offers, and only doesn’t whine for more because he’s worried Starsky won’t have anything to eat. 

He does, however, give the werewolf on the TV a disdainful look before sighing and jumping up onto the couch to join Starsky. The night has cooled off, somewhat, but even though it’s still warm, Hutch leans heavily on Starsky, inching closer until he’s practically in his lap. 

This is the best full moon he’s had in a long time. 

“See, I’m actually kinda glad you don’t look like those ones from the movies,” Starsky says, reaching out to just pull Hutch’s front half into his lap so he can rub Hutch’s ears and shoulders. “That would just be awkward. This is much more accessible.”

Hutch agrees, settling down quite comfortably here. He plans to tell Starsky  _ he's  _ the one who looks like the wolfman, though the joke may be lost tomorrow.

He rubs under Hutch’s chin, squishes his cheeks a little, and then rubs his chest, flopping one of Hutch’s forepaws around with the effort, before he leans down to kiss the crown of Hutch’s head, almost all pure instinct.  _ Was that weird? Maybe if I just pretend like it was normal. _ After all, Hutch licked him all the time like this. Usually behind his ears or on the back of Starsky’s neck. 

The human part of Hutch almost startles at this, alarmed because he likes it so much. He thinks,  _ Does the wolf have a crush on him, too? _ and the “too” surprises him, but by then the wolf is already licking Starsky’s face as though to return the kiss, so, ah, that answered that. 

But affection is easy between them, there's no reason affection should never not be easy between them, and he loves Starsky and Starsky loves him and that's all that's important. It didn't need a label (though “mate” comes again to mind).

Hutch makes a contented sighing sound, and rests his chin on Starsky’s knee where he can see the TV. Eventually the werewolf movie ends, and Starsky yawns. “This is getting to be a habit, you know. It’s almost more comfortable to sleep this way. Doesn’t your pack wonder where you get off to, if you’re here with me? Uh, not that I’m opposed to all this cuddling. Or maybe even a little more.”

Or...they’re talking about this now, apparently, and Hutch looks up at him, visibly startled this time. It’s not fair:  _ Starsky  _ is talking about this, and he can’t talk back!

It’s almost easier to talk to the wolf half of Hutch, because there’s no need for either of them to have their guard up. “I kinda like being this close to you, you know. I just don’t wanna make it weird and ruin anything.” 

Hutch briefly considers bolting, but Starsky’s features are too open and sad for him to do it. Not sad: resigned. It’s hard to tell facial expressions as a wolf. But Starsky smells sweet. A little tired, but in the way you’re only tired around people you really trust. 

Of course, Hutch likes being this close to him, too. Hutch likes everything about Starsky. He whines and licks Starsky’s cheek again, softly, and tucks his head against Starsky’s neck, nuzzling in close. He whines again. Why did he have to bring this up when Hutch can’t talk?

Starsky leans back, arms wrapped loosely around Hutch’s heavy body and one hand absently rubbing between his ears. “Yeah I know, I’m sorry. We can talk in the morning if you remember. You wanna watch something else? I think  _ Bride of Dracula _ ’s on another channel.”

_ If I remember _ , Hutch snorts loudly, but he’s not inclined to grumble much when Starsky has got his fingers right in that good spot behind his right ear that  _ almost  _ makes his leg twitch.  _ Bride of Dracula _ sounds horrible, which is to say, wonderful, and when Starsky flicks the channel over, Hutch shifts once again to where he can see the TV, this time sprawling out on his side, taking up nearly the entire couch, with his head on Starsky’s lap. He hasn’t stopped petting him, so Hutch wouldn’t move for the world. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting some exercise, you big couch potato?” Starsky wonders, before he finally disentangles himself so he doesn’t fall asleep at like eight. “Hang on, hang on I’m just gonna make some popcorn.”

Hutch grumbles, but follows him into the kitchen anyway as Starsky gets a pot set up on the stove with a little butter and some popcorn kernels, shaking it patiently back and forth as he waits for it to pop, his other hand absently running through Hutch’s fur as he watches. “You know you can come over for a movie night any time, you don’t have to wait for a full moon.”

Hutch yips to signify a laugh, and jumps a few times. He leans on Starsky, as he does to show affection, and licks his hand one or two more times, trying to figure out how to ask for some of the popcorn without begging. 

Maybe he does want to exercise, but only to wrestle, and only with Starsky. As long as Starsky is interested in lounging and eating, though, he’ll support this. He needs to sort through what he’s going to say when he has command of English, anyway. But he gives Starsky another shove, just in case. 

It’s enough that Starsky spills some popcorn on the floor, which Hutch snaps up without compunction as Starsky rolls his eyes and sets the bowl of fresh popcorn aside to get down on the floor and wrestle Hutch into submission, though he knows that’s only because Hutch lets him. 

Hutch makes playful growls and sounds of protest, claws scrabbling on the tile of the floor, his fur making him slip all over the place. He likes letting Starsky win. It’s almost as much fun as jumping on him, in turn. 

“You really like to throw your weight around,” Starsky grunts, as Hutch drops his whole weight on him, and Starsky has to fight him off by bear-hugging him into submission. “And you’re ridiculous. Limbs flying everywhere. Ugh! And popcorn breath.”

Hutch  _ is  _ a fearsome killer, but he doesn’t care that Starsky only sees this side of him, sees him acting like a pup, or more like a dog, mouth open and tongue lolling because Starsky is  _ funny _ , and wolves can’t laugh. 

“Alright alright all—” Starsky oofs as Hutch steps on him, and then finally he manages to muscle Hutch over onto his back, before he mercilessly goes for the spot low on his belly that makes most dogs start kicking their back legs. “I bet you’re still ticklish!”

Hutch whines loudly and begins to howl, kicking all his legs—that  _ does  _ tickle, and Hutch doesn’t like being tickled in any form. Starsky knows this, so he ignores him when he makes a whimpering sound, and Hutch kicks helplessly.  

When he’s sure Hutch has learned his lesson, Starsky lays off and goes back to rubbing Hutch’s sides and shoulders, before he gets up, offering Hutch a handful of popcorn as they head back to the couch. “Do you feel better now? Worn out? Or you wanna play frisbee?”

Hutch takes the popcorn gratefully, and almost forgives Starsky immediately, though he’s following with his tail between his legs to indicate he’s given up on ‘games’ for the evening. He almost doesn’t mind Starsky teasing him: it’s fun and familiar, and being given popcorn like a lap dog is much nicer than running around trying to catch food that could kill him. 

This time, Hutch splays out on the floor, grabbing a few pillows with his teeth to try to make himself look like an inviting couch alternative.

“I could pull it out into a bed, you know,” Starsky says, but he joins Hutch down there anyway, splitting the popcorn with him evenly as the movies go on. Dobey’s given them both the day off tomorrow, wisely perhaps, and Starsky eventually falls asleep very late with his head pillowed against Hutch’s side, after pulling a blanket over both of them, and while the TV continues to flicker away with old black and white movies on the screen. 

Hutch watches him sleep, finding him even more endearing and adorable, somehow, like this. With Starsky asleep, he feels like he can admit his feelings, at least to himself. The peacefulness he experiences is like none other, and wonders if what they say about finding your Mate is really true. 

After QVC becomes too painful to watch anymore, Hutch curls around Starsky and licks the side of his face and his neck, and shifts, to get him to roll over. He tries to get him to wake up, but Starsky is out, cuddling a pillow, and Hutch gets up and steps on the remote until the TV shuts off. 

He tells himself that the night is warm and that Starsky won’t get cold sleeping on the floor like that. But he also knows he has a full coat of fur it would be criminal not to share, and gingerly settles over the top of Starsky, pressing him into the lush shag carpet beneath, and folding Starsky into a position he can spoon properly. He licks his neck a few more times, and enjoys the quiet and the peace, and then drifts off.


	2. Chapter 2

Starsky sleeps deep until the sun comes up, and then he dreams of heat and sweat and jungle humidity and he comes up rough, unsettling a heavy weight from his chest when he sits up abruptly, certain he’s back in his tent. Then, it’s just Hutch; well, just Hutch  _ not wearing any clothing _ and Starsky is quick to apologize, arms still halfway around his partner.

“Ah, Hutch, sorry, I uh…” their limbs are too tangled together for immediate disentanglement. “Bad dream. You okay?” 

Hutch blinks slowly, startled from a dead sleep. He smells fear, and wonders if he upset or scared Starsky in some way. He touches his cheek, brushes hair back from Starsky’s forehead. “Sorry, whoa, that was—my bad. You okay?”

“No, just jungle dreams,” Starsky reassures him, grounding himself in reality again. He’s clearly in his own living room, and on the floor, and Hutch is there. 

“Jungle dreams?” Even when they've untangled themselves, Hutch still clings to Starsky's arms, still worried. “Sorry. Guess we fell asleep. I meant to—Starsk, you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yup, I’m fine. I’ll have some coffee and it’ll be like nothing ever happened,” Starsky yawns, and then gives a long stretch. Hutch’s brow is still furrowed, still squeezing his arms. “I guess the floor’s as good a place as any, huh? You still gonna call me?”

“You want me to?” Hutch huffs, aiming for wry but coming out nervous, or maybe incredulous. He hesitates for a second, but you can only be naked on your friend's floor for so long before you just say,  _ fuck it. _ “Look, about last night...there were some things I wanted to say and—”

And Starsky still looks a little sleepy and a little shell-shocked and Hutch just wants to take him up in his arms and never let him go. So he starts with a kiss, planted square on Starsky’s lips.

For an instant, Starsky thinks he’s having one of those ‘wake up into another dream’ sorts of mornings, but instead of how hazy this kind of dream usually feels, Hutch is real and solid and kissing him. Starsky is confused only for a second, before he leans into it, gets his arms around Hutch’s shoulders. Maybe they _ should _ talk about this, but obviously they’re on the same page, and kissing Hutch is so nice. 

With his arms around Hutch’s broad shoulders, it feels easy and comfortable and he can hang onto Hutch when his partner starts to have second thoughts, leaning until they’re both pushed up against the front of the couch and Starsky’s practically in Hutch’s lap and the kiss is deep and real and leaves them panting.

“Hey, what took you so long?” Starsky wonders, honestly, in the breathless moment that follows. 

“Maybe I was worried about dog breath?” Hutch tries, and then laughs. He runs his hands through Starsky’s hair, like he can’t believe he’s real or that he’s really here, that he hasn’t run away screaming because Hutch kissed him. 

Then again, Starsky didn’t run away screaming when he found out Hutch was a werewolf, either, so maybe that’s just not his style. 

Hutch kisses Starsky once more, and then smiles, matching Starsky’s smile, so bright it seems like it lights up the room. “Ah. Should—? We should talk. Maybe I should put pants on.” 

“Do you have to?” Starsky wonders, but he lets go of Hutch, getting up to dig out some spare clothes for him to wear, and giving Hutch some privacy to put them on while he goes to put coffee on.

He leans in the doorway watching Hutch in his space, and Starsky considers what’s changed. It should seem like more than it does. Still, it’s momentous, in a way, but it’s been a long time coming. Starsky brings Hutch a cup of coffee, then sits on the couch next to him. 

“Alright, talk.”

“I don't—I don't know where to begin,” Hutch blurts out, to fill the space between them. His heart is pounding, like it knows this is the most important moment in his life, but he doesn't otherwise feel scared or nervous. He tries to seem more comfortable than he is, and leans back and regards Starsky, trying to get a read on what he thinks of all of this. “You're my best friend. And I want more of that. More  _ than _ that, in some ways. I don't want to mess this up and have...less.”

“I don’t wanna mess any of that up either,” Starsky says, after a long sip of coffee while he thinks about it. It seems like hardly anything _ has _ to change. “And I don’t wanna cause even more problems for your pack, either. But I liked that. I like you.”

Starsky grins a little, feeling like he’s in high school all over again. “I guess there’s a couple things we could do, but I know which one I want to, and it’s not ‘forget about it.’”

Hutch practically leaps across the space between them, with residual wolf energy, and clutches Starsky’s hand. “No, I don't want that, either. Don't want to forget about it. I want—”

He grins, a little helplessly, for Starsky’s smile is infectious, and he realizes he's caught off guard a little “...You like me? Even though I'm...complicated?”

“I’m complicated too, you know. I’ve never met anybody who wasn’t in some way or another,” Starsky says, with a shrug, pulling Hutch toward him and into his arms. “Besides, your complications are charming. Unless you got anything else going on you haven’t told me about.” 

“Two ex-wives?” Hutch says, and then considers himself sheepishly: “Maybe I should have seen this coming. I’ve been with other men before, in college, but not like—”

Hutch pauses, licks his lips, doesn’t want to say too much and  _ really  _ scare him off. “The wolf didn’t like any of them, not the way he likes you.” 

Maybe that already is too much. 

“I messed around in high school,” Starsky tells Hutch, with a shrug. “With guys, I mean. It was never anything serious, but what really is, when you’re still a kid, huh? Anyway, we just won’t rush into marriage, right?”

Starsky winks at him. “You couldn’t make an honest man out of me even if you tried, right?” 

“Ahh—haha,” Hutch laughs, deciding he won’t mention the Mate thing the wolf was already thinking about. “Right. Yeah.”

Starsky is disheveled and pretty like this, and he smells good, and Hutch leans on him, just like his wolf does, pressing him against the back of the couch. But this time he noses in for a kiss, setting Starsky’s coffee aside. “I’m glad we have all day to figure this out. You wanna go out for breakfast, or do you have anything here?” 

“Coffee, eggs,” Starsky says. “But we could always go out for a late breakfast, you know.”

Because right now, Starsky is enjoying getting his hands all over Hutch in his old soft t-shirt, the way he feels solid and comfortable against Starsky’s body, and they fit together this way. Not that he minds the way they fit when Hutch is a wolf, but this is what he’s wanted for a while. He thinks he could just make out with Hutch for hours. In fact, it sounds like a great idea, as he kisses Hutch really, like he means it. 

He draws back suddenly, and then laughs. “Pizza.”

Hutch pats Starsky on the cheek and he pushes his face away in a slow-motion slap. “Get out of here, I’m not eating pizza for breakfast! Where’s your frying pan? I’ll—”

They’re interrupted by the phone ringing, sounding urgent in the peacefulness. 

“Uh oh, it’s the cops,” Starsky jokes, letting Hutch go for the kitchen while he goes to pick up the phone. It’s Dobey on the other side of the line, sounding a little worried.

“Hey, Cap. How was your night? Was it uh, ruff?” Starsky asks, trying to make light of the situation. 

“I’ve never heard that one before,” Dobey grumbles, sounding like he’s heard it too many times. “You heard from Hutchinson? He didn’t show last night, and he didn’t pick up at his house. I was gonna send someone around if you hadn’t seen him.”

Hutch, over the banging of pots as he unearths the egg pan, stands abruptly, hearing Dobey’s voice on the phone. He isn’t sure why he panics, like getting caught by his mother staying over at a girl’s house. It’s not any different than before that Dobey knows he had stayed the night at Starsky’s—but skipping two lunar hunts in a row to spend with his human best friend did already look suspicious…

On the other hand, lying to his boss isn’t good practice, either. Dobey’s a detective, too, and has a good nose. 

“Don’t worry, Cap, he’s right here. You don’t have to go looking around the dog pound,” Starsky says, because in this case, honesty is the best policy. “He came around pretty early last night and we watched bad monster movies, so he has an alibi.”

Starsky smiles at Hutch, leaning over the breakfast bar into his kitchen with the phone in one hand. They  _ could _ lie about it, but Dobey’s smart. Better to come clean at the beginning than have him find out anyway.

“You wanna talk to him?” Starsky offers. 

“No, no,” Dobey says, sounding actually relieved. “He just doesn’t normally miss, that’s all. I’m glad he was with you. Thanks.” 

He hangs up: phone conversations with Dobey are short and to the point. 

“Thanks,” Hutch says, wiping out the pan with a nervous edge now. Were people going to talk? Did it matter if they did? “Sorry. Being a werewolf is kinda like living in a small town. Everyone’s in everyone else’s business, you know…” 

“Should I have told him I found you eating cats somewhere?” Starsky laughs, and then shrugs. “Listen, I guess you’re right. This is probably not gonna be very secret, if they’re always checking up on you. What would you like to do about it?”

Hutch sighs out, laughing a little because  _ how was Starsky so perfect? _

“Ah, yeah. I don’t…” He trails off, rummaging for eggs and butter, and starts cracking while he thinks. “They won’t  _ like  _ it, really. But they didn’t like me marrying Nancy, either, and I did it, and they didn’t do anything. The pack here is a little more progressive than in Minnesota, anyway.” 

Hutch chews his lip and stops after he’s cracked six eggs. “What do you want to do about it?” 

“I don’t suppose it could solve all our problems if I just became a werewolf?” Starsky asks, curious about it. He leans on the counter, not really sure how it all works. Hutch has mentioned that bitten werewolves tended to be wilder, that they had to keep eyes on them. Then again, it seemed like the pack was keeping eyes on all of its members pretty closely. 

“Hah,” Hutch says. “Then I’d  _ really _ be in trouble.” 

Something about Starsky makes him think he’s serious, though, and Hutch frowns as he whips the eggs together with a fork. “I don’t think you want that. It would take you a while, maybe your whole life, to control the wolf. Most don’t even remember the full moon. And I don’t want to put you in that kind of position, where you’re—stuck with me, you know?” 

“I could be really good at it,” Starsky says, lightly, but Hutch seems just as serious about it. “Besides, no matter how it works out uh, romantically, I get the feeling we’re kind of stuck with each other anyway. Unless you think there’s anything that could split us up aside from the supernatural, or divine intervention.” 

Hutch’s breath actually catches halfway to a gasp. “Yeah, no. Nothing.”

Then he blushes and turns back to the eggs. “I don’t think the wolf would like it much if I tried to leave you, or you me.” 

“I mean, he does seem awfully attached,” Starsky says, joining Hutch in the kitchen and refilling his coffee cup from the pot. “I’m not really sure what to make of that. I hope I’m not keeping you away from the socialization you should be getting or exercise or eating properly.” 

“I don’t think the wolf will get fat if I’m not,” Hutch defends, though he isn’t actually sure. “I mean, I guess I should go, to be with the pack. Maybe I can let the wolf spend time with you when it’s not the full moon, then he’ll be happy. And I get you basically all the rest of the time. You’ll need the occasional night off. Date night?” 

Starsky chuckles. “Yeah, for all those hot dates I go on.”

Part of Hutch recoils at that, and he’s stirring the eggs a little roughly, but he wants to leave it up to Starsky: 

“Ah. Unless you want to be exclusive,” he says, like he doesn’t care, even though he really does. 

Starsky considers this, as a package. It seems like a lot. “I dunno. How obvious do we want to be? I’m not worried about werewolves half so much as I am about ignorant people. I think the rest of the force would take it a lot better to know you transformed into a wolf once a month than they would to think we were involved sexually.”

There it is, of course. It’s a sad, frank truth. Times are changing around them, but it’s slow going. 

“Good point,” Hutch says. “It's...not exactly fair, but. Yeah.”

“Not fair at all,” Starsky agrees.

He doesn't think any other werewolves will  _ not _ be able to smell his scent on Starsky, which means they'll stay away but also suspect them sooner. “We won't fool the other wolves for long, but humans can't smell as good. So, yeah.”

By the time Hutch plates the scrambled eggs, he's not immediately hungry. He sighs, finally, and takes a bite. “It's a lot.”

“It’s not so much if we carry it together,” Starsky says, with half a grin. Hopefully it won’t seem like too much trouble to bother with, anyway. He reaches out across the table, gets his hand on top of Hutch’s. “Do you think your pack’s gonna mind for the same reason? Should I start wearing real strong cologne?” 

Hutch shakes his head. “First of all, it won't help. And they're  _ usually _ more liberal-minded about these things, but that's relative. There's a few older ones who'd prefer I have kids, but—and I  _ like _ kids. I just like you a lot. More.”

He sighs and puts his fork down again. “Maybe we should talk to Dobey.” Hutch thinks about this some more, and runs his face in frustration, correcting, “Maybe we should talk to  _ Edith _ .”

Hutch wants to laugh. They haven't even slept together yet and already he’s worried as though they had.

Starsky leans over and kisses his temple in the small space. His kitchen’s never been very big, just enough to cook in and take care of the basics, which means his table’s small enough for this. “Hey, listen. We’ll take it at a pace you’re comfortable with, right? You wanna talk to the Dobeys, I’ll be right there with you. But honestly, they’ve already put up with me to this point, I’m sure if we prove it won’t change anything they won’t have anything to say.”

Hutch sighs, and his shoulders untighten, and he smiles, like Starsky is the sun, or better yet the moon. “Yeah. You're right. I mean, I've had a crush on you since the Academy when you thought I was smuggling in a dog.”

“I was kinda right,” Starsky says, with a shrug and a grin. “You had a crush on me, huh? Why don’t you tell me all about it. I mean, all I noticed about you was how tall you were, and how good you looked in those high-waisted pants, and what a great smile you have when you really mean it and someone doesn’t corner you into it.”

“Yeah?” Hutch says, blushing and giving him one of those rare smiles—though, to be fair, it's really more that Starsky  _ takes _ them. His smiles don't really work out when he doesn't utterly feel them, as his ex-wives always made him so aware. He's so flustered by Starsky’s compliments that he definitely forgets that Starsky called him a dog, and almost forgets he was asked a question, too. 

“I mean, that first night, when you caught me out like that, I was pretty scared. And then you were so sweet. I don't know if you remember, but you gave me water and some beef jerky and the wolf felt so safe around you I slept in later than I meant to. You know how they say it’s the ones who treat animals with kindness who are the truly kind ones? Well.” Hutch still isn’t sure, and may never be, how someone with such a rough childhood as Starsky said he experienced—not to mention a few tours in Nam—could be so  _ kind _ and  _ gentle _ . “And then it was just a matter of time til I came around to what the wolf had already decided on.”

“Well, you looked hungry,” Starsky says, with a shrug. “And I’d been finding dog hairs a lot of places. I just figured you were sneaking one in when I wasn’t around.”

Hutch chuckles. Now he’s hungry, too, and keeping pace with Starsky’s eating. “And, Jesus, Starsk, have you never seen your ass in jeans?” 

Starsky cleans off his plate and leans back. “I haven’t, but people have told me about it. Thanks for breakfast, partner.” 

Starsky’s not sure how much of this they really need to talk about, but it’s probably more than the circles they’re talking around it. Probably, they can work it out as they go. They’re both adults and that’s worked out for them so far. “I don’t suppose we could get back to making out, if you’re done worrying?”

“Thanks for—” Hutch begins, and then his brain catches up with what Starsky said and does a double-take and cracks a huge smile. 

“I mean...yeah! Kinda hard to do that when my face is like, this big,” he says, pantomiming his wolf muzzle as he leans in. “So this is a good time, yeah.”


	3. Chapter 3

Starsky kisses him on the mouth, picking up their plates and putting them in the sink, before he passes by again, grabbing Hutch’s wrist and dragging him toward the couch, pushing him down on it and climbing on top to make himself comfortable, before he returns to taking his time kissing Hutch. 

“I didn’t take you for the quiet type,” Hutch teases, getting his fingers in Starsky’s hair to hold him still and to see how he likes it. “Or are you tired of doing all the talking during the full moon?” 

Hutch wriggles to get his legs curled around the backs of Starsky’s legs, still figuring Starsky’s body out. Sometimes he seems solid enough to almost be stocky, but he’s also somehow so lean and trim, despite never exercising and eating like a werewolf. Either way, Hutch likes holding onto him, and he’s just the right weight to feel heavy but not painful when he’s on top of him, like this. 

“My mouth’s kinda occupied,” Starsky murmurs, shifting his hips to get comfortable right against Hutch, his hands tangling up in the front of the soft t-shirt Hutch is wearing (one of Starsky’s own). “It’s easier to talk to you when you can’t argue with me, anyway.”

Starsky kisses him again, looking right at him the whole time, watching the way Hutch’s face changes, the way his eyes get dark when Starsky rubs his thumbs over Hutch’s ribs, firmly so it doesn’t tickle. He takes his time exploring, kissing under Hutch’s chin, over his neck, groaning when Hutch pulls his hair. 

“Why, is there something you wanna hear?” Starsky wonders, breathy, low. 

Hutch groans, spreading his legs wider and letting Starsky move over him where he wants. Part of him wants to wrestle a bit for dominance, but another part of him is happy to just let things happen, doesn’t want anything getting in the way of wherever this is going. He kisses Starsky deeper, takes fewer breaths between kisses, one hand reaching up inside Starsky’s shirt and scratching his back, lightly at first, and harder as Starsky leans into it. It’s inevitable that his hand trails down to reach inside his soft sleep pants, to squeeze a handful of that perfect ass. “I want to hear where you keep condoms and lube.” 

Starsky laughs, warm against Hutch’s skin. “That’s in the bedroom, partner. All the way over there.” 

He rocks his hips against Hutch’s, enough to grind their still-clothed dicks together so they both feel it, Starsky groaning out against Hutch’s neck, gripping his sides tight at the sensation. 

“You wanna go get them?” he asks, glancing up at Hutch with a grin that suggests  _ he _ doesn’t want to go anywhere just yet anyway. 

“Yeah, maybe not yet,” Hutch agrees, breathless, sitting up to roll Starsky to one side on the couch, so they each have a bit more room to move. “Just making sure you have them. For later.” 

He feels like a teenager, a young wolf again, except instead of hormones it’s Starsky making him feel so crazy, like he could cream his pants just from this and want to do it again immediately. He introduces teeth to the kiss, and really gets a hand in Starsky’s hair as he palms over the bulge in his pants. “That feel okay?” 

“Yes,” Starsky hisses, dragging the sound out, rolling his hips forward as he fists his hands in the back of Hutch’s t-shirt, hauling it up so he can get his hands underneath the waistband of Hutch’s borrowed pants and onto his ass. It feels raw and almost childish, and Starsky hasn’t fooled around like this since high school, but it’s still really good. Like he wouldn’t mind rolling around with Hutch like this all day, and Hutch doesn’t seem to mind, either. He’s got two hands full of Hutch’s ass and Hutch’s mouth on the side of his neck when he gets the giggles, shifting to lay back and let Hutch have control.

“Guess it’s OK if you bite me in this shape, huh?” Starsky asks, looking up at Hutch with a dazed, pleasured expression. “Can we do something about our pants?”

“I have a habit of just busting out of mine, so I’d prefer if we didn’t ruin another pair,” Hutch laughs, running his fingers over Starsky’s face and chest, through his hair, like he’s mapping him. “Even though these are yours.” 

Hutch bites his lip, and then bites Starsky’s lip, which is more fun. “I think if I bite you in this shape you’ll go from mild-mannered Bay City cop to a horny, needy—”

He can’t finish because they’re both laughing, and Hutch wriggles out of his pants and tugs Starsky’s down so he can get his hand around Starsky’s cock. 

Kicking his pants the rest of the way off, Starsky bucks his hips forward into Hutch’s grip, sighing out as he returns the favor, curling his fist around Hutch’s cock and enjoying how it fits against his palm like it was meant to be there. It’s long and slender in a way Starsky appreciates, and hard, and he likes knowing that’s for him.

“I can feel the transformation already,” Starsky chuckles, looking down between their bodies so he can watch their hands working on each other, and then he has to look away because it’s almost unspeakably hot to see Hutch’s big huge hand on his dick, and Starsky is gonna lose it before he’s ready. “Maybe we  _ should _ make that journey. Wanna get my mouth on you.” 

“Not if I get my mouth on you first,” Hutch almost growls, and, okay, he is a kind of bitey individual, even when he’s wearing his opposable thumbs, and he scrapes his teeth along Starsky’s stubbly jawline with a groan. For a moment he briefly considers them relocating, and then shakes his head: “Later. Want to see you come like a teenager in my hand.” 

He circles the head of Starsky’s cock with a thumb, to emphasize this, and then returns to biting a small bruise on the side of his neck. 

Starsky gasps in and groans out, leaning his head back to let Hutch have access to his neck so he can keep doing all those clever things with his mouth. It’s all sting and heat, and Starsky could almost drift away except Hutch keeps giving little squeezes to make sure he stays grounded, and Starsky is pretty sure parts of him are melting (like his brain).  He tries to make sure his grip on Hutch is just as firm, that he strokes him just as fast, feeling the way the head of Hutch’s uncut cock pops in and out of his fist with no little appreciation, as they roll their hips into it, motions small on the limited space of the couch.

Then Hutch’s prediction becomes reality, and Starsky leans forward to get his free hand around Hutch’s shoulders so he can pull their bodies close and thrust a few times between them as he growls his way to orgasm against Hutch’s skin, into his hand, face pressing close against his chest as he tries to hold onto his focus enough to get Hutch to the edge and over it, too. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hutch gasps, several times, screwing his eyes shut and coming just at the sight of Starsky going off like that in his hand, so pretty, so achingly pretty, and God, how he does want to bite him like this, really fuck him,  _ mate  _ him, but he swallows it all in a groan, clutching Starsky tight to his body. Then he’s empty and exhausted, and collapses on top of him, murmuring kisses into his hair and neck. “Love you, love you.” 

Starsky relishes in the squelching heat between them for at least as long as it takes to turn Hutch’s muttering mouth toward his own for a long kiss, like he could trap their words there, right between them where they belonged, before he drew back and offered half a grin. “You think your werewolf pack is bad, wait until we gotta tell my ma.”

“Your ma is a sweetheart,” Hutch says, from having spoken to her on the phone, anyway.

“Just you wait,” Starsky laughs. “She won’t care that you’re a man, or a werewolf, but she will insist you convert. Have you ever heard of a Jewish werewolf?” 

“Sure, I'd convert.” Hutch imagines her as a mother-in-law, calling her “Ma” like Starsky does, but that might be too much to hope for. He kisses Starsky and half sits up. “Maybe we could move this into the shower? As much as I like how you smell like this.” 

“I guess that’s a question I could ask,” Starsky says, peeling their body apart. “How sharp  _ is _ your sense of smell? Not that it really matters, unless you wanna apply as my K-9 partner as well.” 

“I mean…” Hutch laughs, scratching the back of his neck. “I basically  _ could _ . Not like I can smell color or anything but, like, I can tell when you’ve been on a date and usually  _ how the date went  _ the next day. I know that sounds creepy, but it’s just—the nose knows.” 

“Huh, well props to you for not calling me out when I overstated things,” Starsky kisses him again, shifting over Hutch, kicking his pants all the way off and throwing Hutch’s on the floor as well. “Besides, why would we shower, I think we mentioned getting messy again right away.” 

“Well,” Hutch grins, glad he and Starsky are on the same page, “I want to brush my teeth at least. You got an extra toothbrush I could borrow? I should keep one here. And some clothes, maybe…” 

“Yeah, I have a couple still in the package,” Starsky says, lifting himself off Hutch. “You pick one and you can keep it here. The clothes you should probably provide yourself.  Your legs are just way too long.”

“Thanks…?” 

He gets up at last, and helps Hutch up, shedding his shirt too on the way to the bedroom. “I still expect you to watch terrible werewolf movies with me.”

Hutch doesn’t stop laughing until they long after they’ve brushed their teeth and tumbled into bed. 

“All right, partner,” Hutch says, wrestling Starsky onto his back and sitting across his thighs so he can stare down at him, admiring all that hair and all that soft muscle, the straight cut of his jaw and his light eyes framed by midnight-black lashes ( _ they’re like the moon, his eyes are like two moons, they’re everything _ ), “you gonna tell me what I gotta do to rock your world or are you gonna make me  _ sniff it out _ ?” 

Starsky laughs, surrendering to let Hutch take charge, his hands settling on Hutch’s hips. “Could you do that? No, you know what, I’m not sure I want to know the answer to that.”

He pulls Hutch’s hand to his mouth, presses his lips against his palm, tasting himself on Hutch’s skin and the hints of mint from brushing his teeth, and a dozen other things that are uniquely Hutch; salt and sweat. It must be more intense for Hutch, with his sense of smell. “My world’s already rocked. But I wouldn’t mind if it tipped a little more, huh? What do you feel like, partner?”

Hutch licks his lips—not even for show, but because he wants to taste Starsky. 

“I would really like to suck your dick without a condom,” he states, frankly, running his fingers up Starsky’s chest, loving the bush of hair under his palms. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, but I can tell you I’ve been checked recently. And there’s not, like,  _ scientific  _ evidence on this, but we’re pretty sure werewolves are immune to STDs. The healing factor.”

Starsky  _ wants _ that, pretty badly. “How sure is pretty sure? You might be immune, but there’s such a thing as carriers, you know.”

He pulls Hutch down to kiss him on the mouth, rolling his hips up. “I haven’t been tested since I got out of the army. Could be dangerous for you, you know.”

“You’re the one dating a werewolf,” Hutch says, ducking down for a kiss. “But we’ll play it safe until we both get checked, okay? Where do you keep the condoms?” 

“That’s a fair deal,” Starsky says. “I mean, it gives us something to look forward to.”

He reaches, sloshing on the water bed, for the bedside table, though all he has to do is gesture before Hutch pulls the single drawer open and finds what he’s looking for. “Lube’s in between the mattress and the frame. Here it’s—”

Starsky demonstrates, showing Hutch right where it is. 

“Speaking of dangerous,” Hutch says as he tears a condom open and rolls it onto Starsky’s half-hard cock, “having a waterbed, when your partner has claws.  _ That’s  _ a disaster waiting to happen.” 

He grins and starts kissing a path downwards, his hands heavy on Starsky’s shoulders, keeping him pinned. 

“Wait until you see what it’s like,” Starsky promises. “Besides, it’s not like I bought it with wolves in mind.”

“That's fair,” Hutch laughs, growling slightly when Starsky tries to move.

Lifting his arms above his head, Starsky indicates his surrender by leaving his wrists crossed on top of the pillow above his head, groaning as Hutch kisses below his ribs, starts coaxing his cock back toward fully hard. 

The sight makes Hutch sit up a little, discovering something about himself, apparently, as his mouth goes dry.

“I wanna repay the favor,” he breathes. “Like, right away. I may not know what I’m doing otherwise, but I know I can give at least a passing blow job— _ Hutch! _ ”

Hutch’s fingers had been digging in at the juncture of hip and thigh, with a bit of werewolf strength if Starsky’s cry is anything to judge by. 

“Sorry! You just—” He rubs the offended area, running his thumbs and palms up over his partner’s cock until the pain fades. “You just look so good. Like that. Anything, Starsk. Anything you want.” 

And that’s all he can say before he drops his head to take Starsky in his mouth, like he’s compelled to by some outside force, like a primal need. He can taste him even through the rubber, or the smell of him tricks Hutch into thinking he can taste him, and he groans, his senses filled with Starsky. He sucks on just the head before working him deeper, and he knows he won’t be satisfied until he can get all of Starsky’s thick cock in his throat. 

“Hutch,” Starsky repeats, in a different tone, body surging up, eyes closing as he reaches up to hang onto the pillow as Hutch practically pulls his brain out through his dick. It’s amazing, all heat and attention and Starsky can watch the top of Hutch’s head, the way his jaw stretches to try and take more of Starsky. It’s amazing, all that Starsky wants except that he can’t repay the favor immediately. He sinks his fingers into the sheets and pulls, hanging on for dear life. 

Feeling Starsky holding himself back like this is intensely arousing, and it almost reaches in and awakens the wolf, whose tough-male-bullshit really just  _ likes  _ it when Starsky rolls over for him like this. He likes that it’s something Starsky does because he wants to, not because he has to, and that’s delicious—though, not as delicious as licking Starsky’s balls is once he’s swallowed him down to the root. He groans, scratching up and down Starsky’s sides, once to see if he likes it, and again, a bit harder, down his thighs when it sounds like he does. 

Starsky, panting and twisting and holding himself as still as possible as Hutch savages him with his nails and his mouth, manages to keep from shouting. Instead, he makes noise low and constant, groaning as Hutch seems to engulf his whole body with heat and the occasional prickle of pain, dancing along Starsky’s nerves where Hutch’s nails catch on the backs of his thighs and behind his knees before Starsky growls out, untangling his hands from the bedsheets and digging them into Hutch’s shoulders, into his hair, gripping him  tight and close. 

Hutch takes Starsky’s sudden inability to hold himself back anymore as an indication that he’s ready, so he swallows around him, reaching between his legs to roll his balls between his fingers as he bobs his head up and down, choking a little as he takes Starsky hard and all the way. Hutch doesn’t stop to tell him to come, just yanks Starsky over the edge as he contracts his throat around him. 

It’s so fast it almost hurts, and Starsky is only still for a minute before he’s pushing Hutch down, flipping their bodies with sheer strength and determination and his hand flaps against the still-open drawer of the bedside table and he fixes his mouth on Hutch’s neck until he can get ahold of the package and fish out a condom, still catching his breath in hot huffs against Hutch’s stomach.

Hutch makes a startled sound, surprised both at Starsky’s strength and the sudden reversal as well as how much he enjoys it. No one's ever flipped him like that, and he wonders if it's Starsky’s strength or his own complicity. “Starsk—”

“You are askin’ for it,” Starsky tells him, extremely near where he wants his mouth to be, and if he’s still barely catching his breath before he nips at Hutch’s belly enough to make him jump, getting his hand on Hutch’s cock as he pants. “Pushy, pushy, pushy.”

Even as he says it, he’s the one being pushy, pressing Hutch down into the sloshing mattress. 

“Ah-aah—Starsky!” Hutch groans, hands going into Starsky’s lush curls as he gasps out schoolgirl reactions to every touch. If he was surprised at how much he liked—and the wolf liked—Starsky’s easy surrender, he's even more surprised at how much he also likes the reverse. Starsky’s eyes are hard and fierce, his stare going straight to Hutch's dick, and how much he wants him settles warmth in the pit of his stomach that tells him it's okay to give in to this. 

“You—you like it when I'm pushy,” Hutch declares breathlessly, with a little defiance, just to see what Starsky will do.

“I do,” Starsky agrees, pulling open the condom packet so he can roll it onto Hutch’s cock. “And  _ you _ like it when I push back.”

“... _ Yeah _ .”

He gets his mouth on Hutch’s cock without any attempt at artistry, but he’s enthusiastic enough and familiar enough with the principles of the practice that he’s good at it anyway, pulling Hutch down slowly as he gets the latex wet, working his tongue against the head of Hutch’s cock, and just under. He sees what Hutch means almost immediately about wanting to taste something other than rubber, but they both know better. Exposure to their beat on the street meant they encountered some pretty clear pictures of why protection was better. 

Besides, he can still make Hutch groan  _ just _ like this. 

Hutch invents several obscenities while Starsky’s lips are around his dick—he’s never really been a talkative lover, but Starsky coaxes it out of him, making him shake and squirm. The waterbed cradles them together, and Hutch likes the bow Starsky’s back makes crouched between his legs, and he likes the slick-hot-wet sounds his mouth makes. “Yeah. Starsk. Oh my God, Starsk—shit!” 

It’s easy to tell what Hutch likes and repeat it, because his swearing gets more intense, his body goes still or shifts up into it, and Starsky likes this openness, how confident he feels already about Hutch’s body. It doesn’t take a detective, anyway, to know he’s driving Hutch crazy.

Hutch gets his hands onto Starsky’s shoulders, kneading the muscles there, wanting to kiss, to taste, to take, but Starsky already possesses him as much or more than Hutch wants to possess Starsky. And then his world narrows to his dick and he bucks his hips a few times and comes with a shout, almost overturning them again before he goes still, panting, petting Starsky’s hair and shoulders and beckoning him back up to kiss him. 

Starsky kisses his way back up Hutch’s body, after a pause to toss both condoms into a little bedside trash container, and settles over him to kiss him gently but completely. “So who’s the bigger dope, you or me, for not figuring this out sooner?” 

Hutch releases a breathy laugh, running both hands up and down Starsky’s back, sometimes scratching gently, sometimes kneading into him like a massage, and sometimes just feeling. His back, like his arms and legs, are covered in dark, fine hair, and Hutch really thinks it’s a shame that this man wasn’t born a werewolf. “Probably me. I have extra senses you don’t have.”

“Probably,” Starsky agrees, without bothering to argue. “But at least you know you were a dope in good company.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to subscribe to the series to read about the morning after! ;)


End file.
